


Starclan's Chosen

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Firestar was never born, POV Original Female Character, totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: They'd thought she was a normal kit, at first, if a little big.But then she grew, and kept growing, and growing, and growing. And then grew some more.And as she grew, her fur lightened, became less fuzzy. Her markings become clearer, and it was impossible to deny it.But what were the chances that one of the Old Clans would show up inside of their borders?





	1. A Daughter, Left Behind

She had to get _ away_.

  


She still couldn’t believe she had been able to escape, had been able to flee for as long as she had. They’d turned their back for only a moment, hadn’t closed the door to her cage all the way. It had been a spur of the moment decision, but she refused to allow her cubs to be raised like she had, to live a life in captivity, and so she had bolted, shoving it open with her shoulder and bolting passed the humans, taking advantage of their surprise to flee into the woods.

They’d shouted, and chased after her, but she was _ much _faster, even as heavily gravid as she was, and before she knew it she’d left them far behind. But she ran, and ran, and ran, until she couldn’t run anymore, finding herself deep in the forest, the moon high above her head, free for the first time in her life.

  


As it turns out, though, being free isn’t as nice as it sounds.

She had been born in captivity, and she had thought she’d die in it. But that meant she had been given every bite of food she’d eaten, had never had to hunt. And hunting was _ hard _, she was quick to discover, the larger animals easily outrunning and outsmarting her. So she took to hunting the smaller animals, rabbits and birds when she could catch them, mice when she was desperate enough.

Soon enough, she was so desperate that, if she knew the way back, she would have returned to her cage. But she was lost in the forest, and so could only try to survive, worrying about how she’d care for her cubs when they were born.

  


And before long, they were born. She dug a small den in the roots of a tree—it wasn’t what she wanted, but she couldn’t be picky, and within an hour four cubs were suckling at her stomach. Three tigers, and a single little tigress, who she worried over. She was puny, only half the size of her brothers, and when her mother licked her, she only gave the slightest of mewls. Her fur was dull, with not even the faintest sign of stripes.

But, hopefully, the little tigress would strengthen up over the next few days. There was nothing she could do, so she lowered her head and began to sleep.

  


When she went to hunt the next day, she found a scent that had her fur standing on end.

_ ‘Humans!’ _ her eyes had widened, and she’d fled back to her den, making sure that all of her cubs were there. They were silent, sleeping in a heap, her littlest shoved off to the side. She had nudged the tigress into the pile, before pacing back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

She needed to move them. As far away as she could, out of the forest if possible.

And she didn’t have time to seek out a den, to find somewhere safe. She needed to move them, and move them now. The tigress gathered up her cubs, scooped them up by their napes, fumbled the littlest. Tried to re-arrange them but, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t carry all four. And, as much as she hated to do it, she couldn’t justify leaving one of the male cubs behind to take her little tigress. It had the least chance of survival, and she needed to be pragmatic.

So, looking at her little tigress mournfully, hoping a quick death for it, before the humans could find it, she fled, bolting in the opposite direction of the humans’ scents.


	2. Something Strange, Found

Thunderclan had been staying close to their camp.

_ Something _ was in their territory.

They didn’t know what the _ something _ was, but they knew they wanted no part of it. Its scent was strong, and rank, and set off every last one of their instincts, telling them to _ runrunrun _ and not look back.

  


But Starclan had sent a vision to Spottedleaf. It wasn’t a clear one, didn’t tell her what it meant, but she had relayed it to Bluestar. A beam of sunlight, shining on the roots of a tree. The tree was surrounded by a fog, although she hadn’t gotten the sense that what was inside the fog was a _ bad _ thing.

And, as she relayed it to Bluestar, they were both wondering the same thing: was this related to the Prophecy? The one that Spottedleaf had only just been given a few days ago?

_ ‘Fire alone will save the Clans.’ _

  


As she, Whitestorm, Spottedleaf and Lionheart headed out into the forest, they were pleasantly relieved to find that the scent of the _ something _ was beginning to fade. Still, though, they were on high alert as they headed deeper into the forest, the two toms walking on either side of the queen. Whatever _ it _ was, _ it _smelled wild, and they knew they didn’t care to meet it in battle.

They didn’t know where, exactly, to look, but Spottedleaf had told them what the trees looked like, and when the trees started to turn grey, they began to look around. The scent was much stronger here, and their fur began to bristle, fighting the urge to hiss and growl and flee. But StarClan had bid them to come here, and they couldn’t disobey.

Once they found the right area, finding the right tree was incredibly easy. A single beam of light parted the sun-high shade, and the stink of the _ something _ was so thick it had them gagging. There was a sound coming from inside the tangled roots, and Lionheart tasted the air, but couldn’t scent anything aside from the _ something_, so he slunk forward slowly, warily, tense and ready to attack if something leaped out from the den. Whitestorm stood between Lionheart and Bluestar, ears back and teeth bared, eyes in slits.

Finally, Lionheart crept to the mouth of the den, and peered inside.

“What is it, Lionheart?” Bluestar asked, tense and ready, but her ears were perked forward, tail flicking.

Lionheart paused, staring in surprise. The tension left him, and he tilted his head, trying to figure out what he was looking at.

“Lionheart.” Whitestorm demanded, twitching his tail.

“It’s…” the golden-pelted tom paused, trying to make sure he was right, “It’s a kit?”

“A kit?” Bluestar echoed, stepping around Whitestorm and approaching Lionheart. He flicked his ears, and stepped aside to allow her a look, Whitestorm following at her heels. She blinked, staring into the hole at the squirming kit, and said “So it is.”

It was definitely a kit, despite being large for one. Making the universal pitiful milk-mewl, squirming in place, eyes firmly shut and ears flattened against its skull. Lionheart leaned in to sniff at it, and it smelled weakly of milk-scent, and the _ something,_ although the _ something’s _ scent was fading as well, still strong in the hole.

  


“It can’t be more than a quarter-moon,” Bluestar observed, seeing the way its eyes and ears were still shut,

“I’ve never seen a kit so young be so big,” Whitestorm said, frowning—and he would know. He’d had a litter with his beloved Brindleface, after all.

“We can’t just take her,” Lionheart said, shaking his head. Although Starclan had told them to find her, they couldn’t just steal a kit away from its den.

“No, we can’t.” Bluestar hummed, twitching her ears thoughtfully. “We’ll wait and see if her mother comes back. If she doesn’t, then we’ll take her back to camp.” Tilting her head, she hummed, “Her mother may not come back if we’re here, though, so we need to stay out of sight.”

  


And so they did. They hid in the hollows of trees for hours, ears keen on the kitten, making sure she was still making sounds, unharmed. Hours passed, and before long it began to cool, and they knew it wasn’t long until sundown. Bluestar was the first to leave her hollow, and Lionheart and Whitestorm followed, shaking the dirt out of their fur as they followed her to the den.

The cub was still there, her sounds vaguely weaker, and they all knew she wouldn’t last too much longer without her mother. And they knew, too, that her mother wasn’t coming back. No mother would willingly leave their kit for such a long time without having someone to watch them. So, whether the mother had left her by choice or not, they would be taking her back to camp.

Lionstar entered the massive den, being the largest of the three, and carefully picked up the kit by her scruff, pausing only to lick her forehead soothingly. She mewled pitifully, squirming, but while she was large she wasn’t _ that _ large, so it was no struggle to clamber out of the den, joining up with his group.

  


As they made their way back to camp, Bluestar looked skyward, _ ‘Starclan, I hope you know what you’re doing.’ _


	3. A Kit, Growing

“Blazekit, wake up,” a paw nudging at her shoulder had the kit jolting awake, blinking blearily.

Spottedleaf sat in front of her, looking vaguely amused, while Bluestar sat behind her, concern hidden well in her blue eyes.

The kit yawned, slurring “’m awake,” as she stretched, lashing her tail behind her.

“So?” Bluestar turned her attention to the medicine cat, who purred in amusement.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Bluestar.” the tortoiseshell mewed, “she’s sleeping so much because she’s growing.”

“But the other kits are growing, and they don’t sleep half so much,” Whitestorm observed, and Spottedleaf shook her head,

“They aren’t growing as much as she is, so they don’t need as much sleep.” and it was true. Blazekit had been large when they’d taken her in just over a moon ago, and she’d only grown since. Most of her time was spent sleeping, and when she wasn’t sleeping she was nursing, so much so that the other queens had taken to offering to nurse her when Robinwing was looking particularly weary.

“She is a bit underweight, though,” and it was true, it was a constant worry—no matter how much she nursed, she was always hungry, “I believe she’s old enough, now, that she can start being fed fresh-kill, but only in small amounts.” she began to move around her den, gathering various plants and packing them onto a leaf: burnet leaves and juniper berries. “Tell Robinwing to feed her these around sunhigh, they should help keep her strength up.”

Blazekit blinked blearily, heavy eyes dropping shut again. “Eat these, Blazekit,” Spottedleaf purred, and the over-sized kitten did as she was bid, Whitestorm taking the leaf in her mouth as Blazekit gulped down the berries, licking her lips at the taste and making a funny, happy sound.

“No, Blazekit,” Bluestar said, nudging her, “You can sleep once you get back to the nursery,” the blue she-cat turned, leaving the medicine cat’s den, while Whitestorm stopped, waiting for Blazekit to pour herself out of the nest that Spottedleaf had been examining her in, wobbling after the leader with another yawn, and a groggy “Bye Spottedleaf,”

The medicine cat purred, “Sleep well, Blazekit.” She had grown rather fond of the kit.

  


Bluestar saw Blazekit off at the nursery, murmuring to Whitestorm to make sure that Robinwing gave Blazekit the medicines. It was with a heavy heart that he agreed to do so; he adored her, she had raised him, after all, and she was a wonderful mother to Ravenkit, her blood son. But she had quickly grown tired of Blazekit, of how much work she was, of how much she drained her. He knew that, as much as she still treated _ him _ as a kit, she would likely not bother with Blazekit when she became an apprentice.

He had grown to adore the kit, as had Lionheart and Bluestar, and he pitied the poor kit. Whitestorm was relieved, though, that the other queens had taken up the slack, and knew that they would make sure to feed Blazekit the berries and the leaves if Robinwing didn’t.

Surely, though, his mother would give her kit the medicine she needed?

He shook his head, nudging Blazekit, all-but asleep on her paws, into the nursery, slipping through the brambles and inclining his head at the nursing queens, guiding the brownish, wild-furred kit to lay down at Robinwing’s side, licking her forehead and trying to ignore how her ears flicked back in irritation. Looking at her, and then the sleeping Ravenkit at her side, it was impossible to miss how large she was. He was a quarter-moon older than her, but he was only half her size. Whitestorm whispered what Spottedleaf had told him to Robinwing, the other queen’s listening in, before nuzzling her goodbye and leaving the nursery to let them all sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know what I'm doing?
> 
> No. No I do not.


End file.
